


The Augury

by Herald_of_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Mpreg, Gen, James is bad, M/M, Most of this stuff is very mild, OOC characters, Past Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, Possible Explicit Sexual Content, Remus is a jerk, Slash, mentions of domestic violence, warnings in each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herald_of_Dreams/pseuds/Herald_of_Dreams
Summary: Charismatic, controlling, graceful. Arawn Black-Lestrange is all of these things and a whole lot more. But since the tender age of 12 his life has been motivated by one thing...revenge. When opportunity arises with the reinstatement of the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts, Arawn will finally put his plans and his destiny in motion... along with those of many other individuals.AU/SLASH/HET/OOC/PAST AND FUTURE MPREG! (warnings in each chapter for specific things)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter.
> 
> This is the reason why nothing else has been updated in a while, this story bug bit and refused to let go! I know OCs aren't popular with many, but give it a chance, okay? READ THE WARNINGS!
> 
> No flames please. If you don't like it, just hit the back button.

Dawn rose slowly, magnificently over the tree line, spilling rosy gold light onto the massive edifice sprawled in a private valley. Situated in the mountains, the last dusting of snow clung to the mountains in the mid-spring. It was a Saturday, but the local wildlife cared not, bursting into motion and sound as the sunlight touched the trees, shattering the silence like fine fragments of the most delicate of mirrors.

 

Sunlight crept past the heavy silk curtains and spilled onto a bed where a figure slept, peaceful dreams already being disturbed by the mild cacophony of local songbirds, each seemingly trying to warble at a higher, louder note than their fellows. Slowly the single occupant of the room stirred, silky soft hair unruly and tangled as they sat up.

 

Eyes described before as being 'copper-covered steel' glowered at the window from under heavy lids with long, fine lashes. Once he realised sleep was a lost cause Arawn reluctantly swung his legs out of bed and retrieved his soft silk summer dressing robe, pulling it over his shoulders. Arawn was tall but thin, with slender shoulders and a long, aristocratic face. His strides were long and graceful, covering ground with quiet ease.

 

Two long, winding staircases full of family portraits and antiquities typical of pureblood families found him in the family dining room, with a table that seated 12. His parents and uncle were on one end and he headed for them, dropping gracefully if a bit miffed at the early time into the seat next to his uncle. A quick, reluctant gaze at the huge clock across the room did not improve his mood. _Quarter-past six,_ it mocked, not much later than he got up to attend classes.

 

His uncle chuckled roughly at his expression. "Not a morning person, Arawn?"

 

"Uncle," Arawn answered dryly, "If you still did not know I detest early mornings than I suggest that you may need a check from a Healer, as your mental capacities have dwindled severely over the past 17 years."

 

His parents made amused noises as his uncle winced and said, "Touché, dear nephew. Apparently I should leave the conversation until after you've broken your fast."

 

"A wise decision," Arawn answered acerbically.

 

With a rueful shake of his head his uncle Rodolphus turned back to his conversation with the man seated to his right on the end of the table, his brother Rabastan. Arawn exchanged amused glances with his 'mother' Regulus across the table. Rodolphus never failed to try and make 'small talk' with his brother-by-marriage or son before they had enjoyed their morning tea or coffee, it always garnered the same results.

 

"When will Grandfather and my cousins be joining us?" Arawn asked his mother after a sip of his straight black tea, ignoring the brothers' conversation to his right.

 

Regulus of course saw straight through his son's nonchalance, containing a small smirk. "Early afternoon. I daresay your friends will be arriving first."

 

Arawn concealed a huff, of course he was excited, today was his 17th. He came into his majority and was considered an adult by wizarding law. It was a big deal for anyone, much less the Heir to two Ancient and Noble houses! Luckily the majority of the pomp and circumstance had been yesterday, with a trip to the local Gringotts branch to sign papers and take full control of the accounts laid aside for him as Heir. He'd also taken his Apparition test (he'd passed with flying colours of course) and registered his Animagus form. He'd actually had it for almost three years now, but who was being picky?

 

There was a pleased but slightly sad smile on his bearer's face, one that made Arawn angry just seeing it. He clenched his right hand in his lap tightly and continued to eat with his left, politely answering questions or commenting on things thrown in his direction by his sire or uncle. He was always very pleased to be involved in 'adult' conversations, but it was best he didn't seem _too_ interested, teenager still and all.

 

Once finished with his breakfast, Arawn politely dismissed himself from the table and headed upstairs, back to his rooms to get dressed for the day. Once he entered his rooms he summoned his personal house elf Nipta, ordering the tiny female to lay out the outfit he'd decided on for his birthday a week previously, with shoes, watch and appropriate jewels to go with it.

 

Arawn walked into his private bathing chambers and turned on the water, stripping carelessly out of his robe and sleepwear, throwing them over a small bench near the bath. Once it was close to being filled he stepped in, breath hitching as it always did when his skin first encountered the hot water. Arawn had always preferred very hot bathwater, even with the permanent mild Heating Charms on the marble bath itself the water tended to lose that satisfying heat very quickly.

 

He walked into the middle of the bath, the water just coming to the bottom of his shoulders. He sank underneath and then surfaced again a few moments later, gasping a little at the change from very hot water to the mild room temperature of the bathing chambers. He scrubbed his skin thoroughly and made sure to take care with his blue-black hair, scrubbing firmly into his scalp.

 

Once clean he moved to the seating around the edge of his bath and pulled himself up, laying his head on the edge of the octagonal-shape, closing his eyes for a moment. Recalling his bearer's expression quickly reminded him of why he'd decided on a bath rather than a quick shower, as his shoulders tried to immediately tense in rage.

 

Arawn recalled a day some 5 years previously with perfect clarity. 12 years old, young and solemn, he'd been about to start his 3rd year at school (his school started at 10 years instead of 11 like most others, giving their students a leg up over their peers.) He'd been called out to the family solar by his parents, they had said they had some information to share with him. He'd been very curious, but with a sort of naivety that made him shake his head now. His younger self had no idea what he was about to learn.

 

As gently as they could, his parents had explained that his sire was not in fact his birth father. His bearer Regulus had been nineteen years old, newly graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He'd intended to become a Healer, as the skill was in high demand and was particularly coveted by Lord Voldemort, who had been Regulus' Lord since he was seventeen.

 

He'd gone out to a wizarding restaurant with a few of his fellow graduates to celebrate the betrothal/engagement of a mutual friend. Of course there had been some drinking involved but not much, not enough to impair the senses at any rate. It had been very late when they had parted ways, the mood very cheery and relaxed.

 

Regulus had decided to walk home as the restaurant hadn't been that far from the Black family seat of Grimmauld Place. He'd regretted that decision for months afterwards, as he'd been brutally attacked and raped in a dark alley not far from home. He knew the identity of his attacker the whole time, the man had seemingly not cared if he was identified and had pinned his bearer face-to-face against a solid brick wall.

 

It had been a mere week after his grandsire Orion had found his younger son sobbing in the front parlor that they had learned of Regulus' pregnancy. It had been pure luck they knew that early, but Regulus had come down with a fever related to the late fall chill from that night. Male pregnancy was notoriously difficult to attain without the  proper assistance from potions, unless one possessed the bearer's gene, like Arawn himself. Regulus had not, so it was apparent straight from the start that Regulus' rape had not been on accident, the pureblood who had chosen him had done so just to get him with child.

 

Fearing that he would lose his child to his attacker, Regulus had not pressed charges. In fact, the only people that had known of the pregnancy outside of direct family (aside from the estranged heir, Arawn's maternal uncle Sirius), was the Healer and by pure chance, the Lestranges.

 

Rabastan had been harboring a severe crush on Regulus for several years apparently, but the younger Lestrange twin hadn't approached the Blacks, sure that since Regulus was heir due to Sirius' estrangement from his family he would probably be required to marry a young witch of an attractive, appropriately pureblooded descent and carry on his family name. There were many families that refused to even consider homosexuality or bisexuality due to the complicated nature of male pregnancy.

 

Rabastan had just happened to be with Regulus in Diagon Alley when his bearer had a chance run-in with his attacker. Pale and stressed, Regulus had retreated to a dark Apparition point to return home. Rabastan had followed him, concerned, and had managed to catch Regulus as he started to fall in a dead faint from the shock and stress. The complicated glamour had dropped, but Rabastan had kept his head enough to Apparate Regulus to Grimmauld.

 

Once he'd arrived and a startled, protective Orion had been assured that his son hadn't been attacked by Rabastan, the older man had called Regulus' healer and then curtly explained the issue to Rabastan, getting the younger Lestrange to swear an oath not to reveal what he'd learned. Since Rodolphus was betrothed to Bellatrix he and their father Janus had been brought in on the story as well.

 

Since that day, Rabastan had steadfastly remained at Regulus' side, attending his meetings with his Healer, offering him a shoulder to cry on or someone he could vent to without being judged. He'd doted on Regulus and the younger man's unborn child, rejoicing with him when it was discovered he carried a healthy boy, planning the nursery, bouncing name ideas back and forth.

 

Regulus had also had steady sessions with a mind-Healer as well, helping him get over the trauma from his violent, pain-filled experience. Over time Regulus had realized he was falling in love with Rabastan. Too traumatized still to consider changing the baby's parentage through Blood Adoption _in utero,_ Regulus had finally hesitantly asked Rabastan if he would consider becoming the baby's papa just after he was born.

 

Rabastan had been overjoyed, gently embracing an eight-months pregnant Regulus and had kissed him, softly, firmly and very spontaneously. Somewhat in reverse of tradition, Rabastan had proposed to Regulus and _then_ asked permission of Orion to enter a betrothal with his younger son. Luckily for him, Orion had approved of the union and had been mightily amused by the actions of the younger Lestrange, who had grown on him over the past months.

 

Arawn Janus Orion Black-Lestrange had been born on the 1st of May, interrupting the family's Beltane ritual rather spectacularly. A sole _Inheritance_ parchment had been created with his birth families, before Rabastan had solemnly, joyously Blood Adopted the newborn babe, erasing any physical evidence of the horrific crime that had happened to his bearer Regulus on a dark August evening.

 

Despite the Blood Adoption, Regulus had still been afraid of Arawn being taken from him, so they had moved here, to a Lestrange family estate in Wales. Arawn had been his bearer's salvation, the tiny tot growing into a graceful, talented young pureblood wizard over the past 17 years. Regulus had finally overcome his last issues and married Rabastan when Arawn had been six months old, just a couple of months before his grandmother Walburga had died.

 

Arawn had known from that day the name of the man who had violated his bearer in such a way, he harbored a deep hatred for a man he'd never met. But he'd researched, oh yes he had researched the man to the nth degree. His parents had no idea how long he'd been planning his revenge, he doubted they would have tried to dissuade him however. His bearer maybe, but only because he feared for Arawn. His sire Rabastan may have even given him a few interesting ideas.

 

No, the only one who knew in his family, simply because she'd stumbled onto his plans when he'd been about fifteen was his aunt Bellatrix. Bella had doted on him since he was a small babe, showering him in gifts and assisting him in 'educating' himself on things his parents may have thought too old for him. The Dark Arts, for example. Arawn loved, coveted the Dark Arts. They were addicting, consuming, enchanting. Being exposed to them was like being exposed to the finest of drugs and alcohol combined, it was a heady feeling.

 

He knew the Dark Lord wasn't gone, that little baby _Harry Potter_ whom so many praised and fawned over hadn't vanquished the Dark Lord. It was ridiculous to believe he had, a tiny infant destroying one of the most powerful wizards known to the modern magical societies? No, the Dark Lord had gone underground. He was gathering supporters and allies worldwide, biding his time until magical Great Britain would be helpless to stop him.

 

Arawn wasn't supposed to know about the Dark Lord, but it was poorly hidden. He'd seen the coal black, fresh looking Dark Mark on his parent's arms, he'd listened carefully behind doors as they had talked with his aunt Bella and uncle Rodolphus about a 'foreign friend'. He noticed the days when one or both of his parents had missed standing engagements for 'important business'.

 

Arawn wanted, _craved_ to join the Dark Lord like his parents, to become part of something bigger than himself. He'd been 'training' himself for years on how to make himself useful, refining and controlling his legendary family charisma and charm so that he could practically make anyone  do what he wanted. His anger was legendary, _he_ was the ruling body at his school, the Headmistress knew it. But Headmistress Isolde was a unique woman, she encouraged it, subtly guiding Arawn in maximizing his potential.

 

His lips twitched. Initially his grandsires' Orion and Janus had been disappointed that he would not be attending Hogwarts, like those on both sides of his family had been for centuries. Their disappointment had fallen away into incredulous surprise when they learned that instead, Arawn had been invited to join the very prestigious, very elite Avalon Academy of Magic.

 

The AAM was one of the most elite schools in Western Europe, requiring that potential students show _controlled_ accidental magic of some power before they were even noticed. Once noticed by the school, the potential was watched carefully for another year. If they continued to show bursts meeting or exceeding their first, they were sent an invitation to meet with a member of the school's Council, a ruling board of 3 teachers and the Head.

 

The one sent to visit Arawn had been Aldrich, their Weapons/Dueling instructor. Aldrich had been tough on Arawn, but even at ten years old Arawn had possessed his family's legendary charisma and intelligence. He'd refused to let the man's bravado intimidate him, able to see straight through his façade. Aldrich had been impressed by the young boy and his family, answering their questions honestly but more importantly, everything he had said was the truth. Aldrich didn't mince words, he was to many shockingly blunt.

 

Arawn liked and respected Aldrich. The man was ferocious, blunt and would tear you apart like a rabid wolf, but he was objective, never favoring one student over another. You _earned_ Aldrich's respect, either that or his sharp blunt tongue. His words were preferable to many over his favourite 'correction' tool, a flat, blunt blade that stung sharply when it met your clothing or skin.

 

The Avalon Academy was scathingly considered a 'purebloods only' school by many, but it was simply one of the more elite schools, weeding out those that deserved to learn from such august teachers over those that wanted the prestige. Aside from being an eight-year school, Avalon was different from other schools in one important way. Unlike Hogwarts, who Sorted students into four confining Houses, or Beauxbatons which had 'years', Avalon sorted it's students by 'form', these forms comprised of eight magical/physical skill groups.

 

Lowest to highest the forms were separated by colour as: white, yellow, blue, red, purple, bronze, silver and gold. Students wore plain black closed robes styled like battle robes over smart trousers/skirts and shirts, with their border colour showing their form. The robes and smart wear were only required for special occasions, most of the time students wandered around in tanks, sleeveless shirts and various fashionable trousers/skirts. The only requirement was that the form colour was indicated in some way at all times.

 

The staff had elegant, militaristic styled robes with off-center fastenings, bordered by a shimmering iridescent color that seemed to comprise all of the various form colours depending on the lighting. Headmistress Isolde was again different, wearing whatever she pleased on any occasion. She was always flawlessly clothed and carried a cold, regal demeanor about her like the finest of cloaks.

 

Arawn stood slowly, exiting his bath. The water had begun to get cold, he detested the cold. Winter was the one season he didn't like, he always went around dressed very warmly for the entirety of the season. Some of his 'friends' had jokingly compared him to a lizard, requiring a hot stone or sunlight to stay warm.

 

He dried his body thoroughly and dressed in a pair of elegant black trousers, short boots with a slight heel and a rich, deep royal blue tunic. He tied the front cords loosely, carefully dried and brushed his shoulder-length blue-black hair and chose his silver watch. His last chosen accessory for the day was a silver chain that hooked over his ear with a tiny emerald snake that bobbed level with his chin, it had been a gift last birthday from his friend Valko.

 

Making sure his wand holster was fastened firmly on his right wrist, he slid his wand into it and tested the grip, flicking his wrist in a sharp movement. His wand slid easily into his left hand and he nodded in satisfaction. Not many wizards were left-handed, Arawn's wand holster had been custom-made, a gift from his grandsire Janus this last Yule.

 

He walked slowly, casually back down the stairs, in no hurry. The only one present was his sire Rabastan. The man looked up, spotted his son and a look of undeniable pride slid into bright copper eyes. His sire moved slowly over to him and took him into a one-armed hug, Arawn gladly returning the none-too frequent show of physical affection, marveling as always at the deadly strength he could feel in his father's frame. Many had underestimated Rabastan Lestrange, not so many had lived to learn from their lesson.

 

Slowly the hug ended, his father drawing back to arm's length, though he left his hand on Arawn's shoulder. The heavy weight of his hand was reassuring, familiar. A very slow smirk slid onto his face and he said lowly, firmly, "I am proud to have you as my son, Arawn. This world has always been yours, and you have taken it with proud, assured fingers. You will _never_ be capable of disappointing me, no matter your decisions in life. At the same time, Remember, _we are always behind you._ "

 

Arawn knew his  eyes were slightly over bright, but he couldn't help it. Such open praise from his sire was rare. Oh Arawn knew his father loved him, that the man was proud of him and his achievements, but at the same time it was reassuring to hear so. He had a lot to live up to and sometimes the stress of it had threatened to buckle him, but he had firmed himself back up and set his shoulders. He was a Black and a Lestrange, _he would not break!_

 

With a quirk of his lips Rabastan stated, "I think your friends are about to arrive if you want to meet them in the Floo room. Have a good day, my son and brightest of blessings to your future life as adult."

 

With a firm return smile, Arawn turned and left the room before he turned into a blubbering mess. His strides were proud as he walked through his home, a new determination to not disappoint his family in mind. He may graduate this year, but there certainly was life beyond the AAM. Whatever he did in life, he would be _known._

 

There was already someone standing in the Floo room when he arrived, and Arawn smiled. Valko towered over him, foiling his dark appearance with rich golden hair and equally golden eyes. His hair was kept very short and his pupils were unusually wide. Unusual at least until one knew Valko's heritage. Valko was a 'pureblood' werewolf, born to the Alpha male of his pack and his mate. Unlike his two siblings, who had been born human, Valko was born with lycanthropy, nearly killing his mother before his birth.

 

Valko detested mention of his two siblings, they were dismissively known as 'runts' to pureblood wolves, regarded with the same sort of apathy as squibs. Valko's two 'runt' siblings had been exiled from their pack as soon as they were able to fend for themselves, dropped off on the doorstep of a village orphanage nearby the pack's territory.

 

Valko was a year and some older than Arawn, he had already graduated from AAM. He was studying Lunar Magicks further under the tutelage of the Exotic Magicks professor, hoping to learn some techniques and magicks that would be of value to his pack when he returned home as his father's heir. Though Valko had a mate waiting for him when he returned, he and Arawn were on-and-off lovers, Arawn sating the powerful lust that consumed his kind near a full moon in exchange for the sometimes violent intercourse he required to calm down when someone had well and truly pissed him off.

 

As such, when Valko spotted him he strode over and greeted Arawn with a powerful, dominating kiss. Arawn allowed it, enjoying the power, control and lust he could feel pouring off of his 'friend'. There was a unique strength in submitting, Arawn was not ashamed of the fact that he preferred bottoming for others, with his sensuality and family charisma he could lead a very dominating personality to do exactly as he desired. Valko, heir to an Alpha, would do whatever he wished. If that was not the longer lasting form of dominance, than what was?

 

"Well met, Arawn," Valko said in his husky voice. "Blessings to you on this day of all days."

 

"Well met, Valko. Greetings and many thanks for your blessings. Welcome to my home."

 

A very warm smile crossed Valko's lips, gold eyes brightening. He was not a newcomer, he had visited Arawn's family home twice previously, earning a wary sort of respect from Arawn's family. Bella liked him, no doubt because she could sense just how dangerous Valko really was. He was powerful, primal, totally in control and in synchronous harmony with his wolf. Arawn's control over him wasn't always stable, there was always that possible hint of danger, that Valko could turn on him. It was exciting, exotic, just like the Dark Arts.

 

The Floo flared again, releasing an elegant young woman with very dark red hair and strange purple eyes. Arawn smirked, very few knew this young woman's true face. He counted himself amongst the lucky few that did know both her real face and how to detect her. Gizem was a very dangerous female, though few would guess it based on her slender appearance. She thrived on weaving intricate webs of gossip and blackmail. She could ruin you with a few words into the wrong ears. You would never know it was her either, due to one simple little fact.

 

Gizem Arachne was a shapeshifter. Unlike metamorphagi, shapeshifters were almost impossible to detect by most magical means. Gizem could assume any appearance she wished and you would never know it was her. She'd been thrown out by her family when she was thirteen because of this fact. She'd been dismissed curtly and coldly by her Aunt when she'd tried to tell the woman that her smarmy new husband was cheating on her, only marrying her Aunt because she was from an influential French family. So Gizem had taken the appearance of her uncle's current lover and made sure her Aunt saw them, getting the man to almost take her before slipping off to stand next to her Aunt and shifting back to her 'normal' appearance.

 

Her Aunt and parents had taken exception to her methods and thrown her out, the words 'slut' and 'freak' ringing in her ears. Gizem hated her family with a vengeance, she had dropped her surname like rubbish and was well on her way to ruining them with the talent that had been wasted on her prudish, controlling relatives. At the AAM she had found her niche, slotting into classes with ease and swiftly gaining the reputation that she was not to be messed with.

 

"Well met, Arawn. Blessings to you on this day of all days," Gizem repeated Valko's words, her voice teasing and sultry. She knew better than to try her charms on Arawn, he could ruin her very easily. Despite the innate danger she sensed in him, Arawn knew she would stick around and be loyal to him as long as he brought her influential and wealthy people to practice her 'skills' on.

 

Arawn repeated the greeting he'd given Valko, drawing Gizem into a gentle, affectionate hug. Despite her cold exterior, Arawn knew she _needed_ to belong. It was his control over her, be the friend, family she wanted and she would follow along like an eager little pet.

 

The Floo flared once more, spitting out a small, skinny male with a childlike face. His eyes were black and his hair pure white, but those were the only extraordinary features that Cináed possessed. He was only 14 years old, not having another birthday until January. Of his trio of 'friends', Cináed was the only one who  had never visited Arawn's family estate before, and his ebony eyes were wide as he looked around.

 

Arawn had not trusted Cináed to visit until now. The young boy had needed to learn control. Cináed appeared to not fit very well into Arawn's little 'group', being an orphan of debatable blood purity. He'd been extraordinarily shabby and unkempt in appearance when Arawn had taken over, at first not bending well into the life of a respectable person.

 

Not for nothing did Arawn possess both the Black charisma and the Lestrange sternness however. Reading the hot-tempered Cináed like an open book, Arawn had forcefully bent the boy into the shape he desired, keeping him there with the firmness of a master to a pupil or a very strict parent with an unruly child. Cináed was worth it, every last frustrating moment.

 

Arawn had first taken notice of the tiny boy with white hair when he'd been defending a young girl some older boys had been bullying. Already a leader amongst the students, Arawn had been about to step in when Cináed had lost his temper and attacked the student in the lead, unleashing a stream of fire and nearly _burning_ the other to death.

 

Cináed had an innate talent and affinity with fire, even the legendary Fiendfyre that was so hard to control. However, the boy's temper and lack of discipline made him dangerous to everyone around him as well as himself. Arawn had taken it upon himself to teach the boy the control he needed. He had inflicted himself upon Cináed, not necessarily willing at first, but his defiance had been born of defending himself on the streets, many had taken notice of the small, pretty boy with unusual features, none with good intentions.

 

In turn Cináed had become a fanatic of sorts, eager and willing to follow any and all of Arawn's instructions, soaking up his praise and flinching under his stern rebukes. The tiny little orphan had become one of Arawn's greatest successes, but it hadn't been until recently that Arawn trusted the boy around his family. Cináed's control of his gift with fire was now absolute, he was constantly pushing his limits, finding new abilities that Arawn hadn't thought remotely possible.

 

 The small teen finally spotted the other three, flushing in embarrassment under their gazes. Hesitant, slightly unsure still with the foreign phrasing, Cináed repeated the greeting Valko and Gizem had given, getting a firm reply in turn from Arawn. Arawn maintained a firm gaze, just until Cináed started to squirm in unease, before gifting the smaller teen with a very slight smile. Relieved, the ebony-eyed boy relaxed, eyes still wide as he looked around Arawn's stately, wealthy home.

 

"I-I have some news," Cináed said, tone hesitant.

 

"Come," Arawn stated to his 'friends', gesturing for them to follow. He led them down a couple of elegant corridors and into what he had always thought of as _his_ parlor. Heavy wood and suede furniture framed an ornate fireplace with figures of hounds near the base, proud heads up and alert, seeming to stare at a point over Arawn's shoulder. When the fire was lit, as it was now, the hound's eyes seemed to flicker with an eerie life.

 

Valko took a seat on the end closest to the fire, arranging his long legs to his comfort on the loveseat after taking off his shoes. Amused, Arawn moved over to the same seat and crawled onto it as well, laying so that he was splayed over Valko's powerful body with his head on the older teen's shoulder. Valko gave an amused, rumbling chuckle in his ear, but gave no indicator that he was annoyed with Arawn's improvising.

 

Gizem toed off her heels and curled into the chair at their right, giving the entwined pair an amused, indulgent grin. Gizem knew full well the pair were lovers when it suited them, Arawn had the impression that the girl found it arousing of a sort, she certainly had given them rather heated covetous looks in the past.

 

Cináed sprawled in a comfortable sitting position on the floor, back to the fire. Arawn knew that after living on the streets the young boy appreciated the warmth of a fire, his strange gift with fire keeping him alive through cold winters. Once comfortable, Cináed looked to Arawn, asking silent permission to continue speaking. Arawn nodded, offering the boy a quiet encouraging expression.

 

"I snuck into the Council meeting just before the end of term," Cináed admitted, blushing. The 'Council' consisted of the Headmistress and three instructors who governed the school. "The majority of the talk was rather boring, just discussion about some of the more undisciplined students and a bit of talk on next year's curriculum. Towards the end though the Headmistress mentioned something interesting. Something about a Triwizard Tournament?"

 

Gizem gave the small teen a sharp look. "The Triwizard Tournament was first held ages ago, it was disbanded in the 1800s due to rising death toll among competitors. In my opinion it should have been disbanded after that cockatrice incident in 1792. Held between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang Institute, each school selected a champion through an impartial enchanted object and the chosen champions went against each other in a triad of tasks."

 

"But that's just it," Cináed said, sounding a little breathless, "they're doing it again next year. But Beauxbatons has backed out and Headmistress Isolde has agreed to Avalon being the replacement!"

 

"The Triwizard Tournament takes almost a whole year," Valko said, sounding displeased. "That means that at least some of our students and staff are going to spend a year away from AAM."

 

Arawn listened to his friends debate the Tournament and Avalon's participation. While on one hand he was displeased about spending the majority of  his last year away from Avalon, the opportunity was divine. After all, both his mother's violator and the famous _Harry Potter_ were at Hogwarts. It seemed that almost 5 years of planning was beginning to bear fruit. Tasting his words on his tongue, Arawn nodded decisively.

 

"Enough," he said and they fell silent. Satisfying. "As I see it, with how small our school is the Headmistress will likely bring all students and staff to the location, most likely Hogwarts as _Albus Dumbledore_ is unlikely to let what is most certainly all his planning be taken elsewhere. He may intend to draw out the Dark Lord, it may simply be another opportunity to shove his Golden Boy and cause down people's throats."

 

"In any case, we are going. I want it spread about in the first week or so of the next year that any student who wants to compete should enter, I do plan on entering myself, though it is not my first priority. You all know what I have been planning for the last 5 years, now it appears that it may be the perfect time to set these plans in motion. We are going," Arawn smiled, but his smile was cold.

 

"We will _ruin_ those students and the people who give Hogwarts such a vaunted and unearned reputation. _Avalon will win._ We will show them what real magic is, we will show them how real witches and wizards act, we will prove our Headmistress right to hold us in such high esteem.  That old man will regret ever asking for the Tournament to be reinstated."

 

The answering fanatical grins on his friend's faces would have scared anyone else. For Arawn, who had provoked those very expressions, they were gorgeous.

 

_No more games._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AAM's arrival at Hogwarts. I know this is a bit of a jump after the last chapter, but this gets them to Hogwarts, after this it will follow (after a sort) the timeline for GoF. I am very flattered at the interest in this story, regardless of the OC main character. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter.

Term at AAM began August 1st and ended May 5th, with graduation for the eighth form students falling in the last week of April. It was a cold, wet fall evening when Headmistress Isolde stood at the front of the main hall, staring around her gathered students with cold, firm eyes. Isolde had been a beautiful woman when she was younger, there had been many who desired her hand in marriage.

 

Grief had made her a cold, unfeeling woman. What's more, the cause of her grief was her own actions entirely, so the false placation offered on the death of her lover only made her angry. She had made her own lonely bed, she would lie in it alone with only her pillows and shadow to see her tears. Initially the pain had threatened to drown her in endless, overwhelming despair, but she had risen above it, forcefully building walls that kept the cold inside, where the only thing it could harm was her.

 

Before becoming Headmistress at Avalon, Isolde had been a Weapons Mistress, teaching the very same class that Alexis Aldrich taught now. She had been a good teacher, firm and yet caring. Yet she was proud, doing everything herself even if it overwhelmed her. She had resented the assistant the Headmaster had assigned her, seeing the brash young man as very much the same type that had tried to enter her bed for years.

 

She'd done her best to drive him away, but he'd stayed. Resisting her flaying tongue and sharp manners, he had remained her shadow. Never in her way, he'd always somehow found a way to help her out without being obtrusive or in her face. It had irked her, his quiet, steady demeanor and unruffled poise.

 

Over a period of five years her thoughts on him had grudgingly begun to change.  Isolde didn't realize how much she'd come to rely on him until he'd taken emergency leave to be with his family. His sister was a talented young woman on the verge of becoming a Potions Mistress, she'd been killed due to a volatile potion exploding when jostled by a nervous aide.

 

Unable to understand her feelings on the matter, she'd been as harsh and brusque as ever when he'd returned. He'd finally lost his temper, all but screaming at her in retaliation for her behaviour. She'd backed down, apologizing for her words and manner. They'd become wary friends, taking another two years down the road to become lovers finally.

 

And then had come that horrible day, the one Isolde would never forget. They had been sparring as they often would between classes, challenging each other and testing wits as easily as they did blades and spells. Suddenly, he had dropped his guard at just the wrong moment and her spell had made contact, severing his spine. He'd bled out in her arms, while they'd been waiting for the Healer at the Academy to arrive.

 

There had been an Inquiry, which a numb Isolde had submitted to, still unable to feel anything more than shock and an overwhelming sense of guilt and misery. Isolde had been cleared, the death of her 'assistant' nothing more than a tragic accident. She had been about to leave the school when the former Headmaster had died suddenly. Isolde had remained at the Academy, helping the staff when needed, assisting the temporary holder of her former position with the younger students.

 

And then the Headmaster's last words had been read, and his successor revealed. _Her._ Isolde still recalled the shock and anger she'd felt that day, resenting the old man for not letting her leave. She'd accepted the position reluctantly, full of restlessness and grief. But her predecessor had been an intelligent man, he'd known what she'd needed to keep from falling into her own private abyss. Directing the private, prestigious Avalon Academy was something that suited the meticulous Isolde like a well-fitting glove.

 

So she stood in front of her students, cold ice-blue eyes staring at them all, sharp features rigidly composed. They respected her, feared her even a little. Isolde found she didn't care. She wasn't here to be their mother, she refused to coddle them. They had all been given the opportunity to prove themselves worthy of one of the best education curriculums' in Europe, she would see that they upheld the Academy name, otherwise they wouldn't receive their return letters.

 

Keen eyes found a boy sitting with a trio of others. Isolde watched Arawn Black-Lestrange for a long moment, pride slipping into her features. Arawn reminded Isolde of herself when she was younger, yet he was even more powerful than she had been, he _knew_ his worth, his abilities. She had watched him from a distance since he'd arrived seven years ago, a small boy who already possessed amazing amounts of his family's charisma and fierce, brutal control.  He had swiftly established himself as a voice for the students, a little royal.

 

Now, the students behaved to his exacting standards, very few were willing to cross him. Not only because of his own legendary temper and magical control, but due to the abilities of those he tended to gather around him. The students that found themselves the most drawn to Arawn were not ordinary in the slightest. He surrounded himself with brilliance, charisma and unique gifts, yet none of them would challenge him.

 

He was a natural leader, even though now he looked like just another student, leaning back in his chair at his group's round table, metallic gold shirt standing out starkly in the wash of colours. Valko's plain black clothing and Cináed's bright hints of bronze were the only hints of colour besides the wash of gold that designated eighth form. Looking at the other tables Isolde noted that at least one of each form's colour was represented, with Arawn's table being the only exception.

 

Isolde strode forward, moving around the circular, central fire pit to stand in front of the flames, ready to address her students for the first time in the new term.

 

"Welcome back, students. For those of you who are in 1st Form, welcome to the Avalon Academy of Magic. Congratulations on gaining an invitation to one of the most prestigious and elite schools in Europe. Do not let that go to your heads, however. Entry into Avalon is just the beginning, if you fall too far, the 1st year could be your last. Class schedules are available in the main living quarters near the dorms, as are maps. These maps are only available for the first week, I suggest you take the time to learn where your classes are, most of our Professors will lock the doors once class has officially begun."

 

"Dress code is informal but sensible, do not show up for class looking like you belong on the streets with the common rabble. The only hard rule is that your form colour must be visible at all times. Printed on the top of your schedule is your student representative for the year, please go to them if you have any questions, or if you have complaints about another student's behaviour. Be warned, should it be proven that you are wasting that representative's time than you will receive the punishment their actions would have gained."

 

  Crossing her hands in front of her, Isolde continued. "This year will be different, however. The International Confederation of Wizards has seen fit to grant the English Minister of Magic the permission to attempt another edition of the Triwizard Tournament. Normally this would not affect the Avalon Academy, as the three traditional participants have always been Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Beauxbatons Academy and the Durmstrang Institute of Magic. However, this year will see history made, since Beauxbatons has declined entry due to their rather poor historical record of student deaths' or maiming during the Tasks. This year, Avalon Academy of Magic will be taking Beauxbatons' place in the Tournament."

 

Isolde noted with wry amusement that Arawn and his trio seemed less than surprised at the news. No doubt Arawn had already planned for this scenario. Two steps ahead of everyone at most points, that child.

 

"Therefore, we will be leaving the Academy at the beginning of October to join our English 'cousins'. Let it be noted that if your grades are not holding at a minimum of four Exceeds or better you will be sent home to self-study for the rest of the year rather than joining your fellows to witness the Tournament. Barring anyone being left behind, we will be taking all students and instructors, as well as our own living quarters and classrooms since Hogwarts is sub-par for many of the classes we offer."

 

"I expect the most exemplary, studious, elegant behaviour from my students while we are abroad. I will not be having any of my students behave like common rabble. Should your behaviour not meet the standards I have set over the past years of your education, you _will_ earn marks and corrective sessions with the Professors." Her threat had considerable claws, none of the students wanted to get in trouble with any of their teachers.

 

"Any other beginning of term notices will be available in the student newsletter tomorrow morning. For now, we shall enjoy our evening meals and head to the dorms. Classes begin at quarter-past seven sharp, as normal. Let us have, as usual, another extraordinary and informative year."

 

Arawn led the hall in polite applause at her finish, before the meals appeared on each table. Students fell to their dinners and quiet chatter, Isolde making her way to the teacher's long, curved table on the other side of the fire pit. She sat, considered her wine and dish for a moment and then began to eat, keeping sharp eyes on her students.

 

In his usual quiet fashion Arawn signaled the end of the meal, rising lazily from his seat to the far left of the hall. Almost immediately the most senior students at each table began to stand as well, directing younger students to finish their last bites and begin moving. Arawn's group exited the hall first, followed by the table closest to them, then the next, all in an orderly, quiet hustle of movement that emptied the hall of its 78 students in less than a quarter-hour.

 

It was not much later that the teachers began to disperse, Isolde wishing her fellow professors a good evening and heading for her private quarters. So began another year for the Avalon Academy and Isolde had the feeling that Arawn was going to make it a memorable one indeed.

 

For now however, her bed called.

____

 

Arawn gazed with unseeing eyes at the courtyard of Avalon. His thoughts whirred along far ahead of his body, already contemplating a school that he had never seen, only ever heard described. His exceptional mind was busy, planning, plotting and anticipating. He had not become the foremost student at Avalon through laziness and stupidity. There were very few that would dare try and cross him, three of which had failed too many classes to be able to attend the tournament. Strange coincidence, that.

 

Draco had described Hogwarts several times over the years that Arawn had actually been able to interact with his shallow cousin. More so than he probably realised, but that was one of Draco's faults. Given everything he could possibly want in life, never having to actually _work_ for the respect and honour he was given at Hogwarts as well as at home, Draco was slothful. He had let himself become lazy, indulgent and childlike.

 

As much as Arawn honoured his cousin, he knew his faults better than anyone. Draco would not make a very good member of the Dark Lord's forces. He certainly would never rise to his sire's esteemed position, not unless he got off his lazy arse, worked for it and developed something of a backbone. Arawn doubted that his cousin had ever gotten his hands dirty, even when punishing the unruly members of his own house.

 

Meanwhile, Arawn had charmed and manipulated his way to the top of the Avalon society, then held it with a continued mix of the two along with a good dose of ruthless bloodlust. After all, he was a Black and a Lestrange. He was no stranger to dark spells, thanks to his Aunt. Those foolish enough to cross him met the business end of his wand and his already impressive repertoire of spells, some of which were dark but not illegal, while others pressed that line a little harder.

 

Headmistress Isolde finally appeared, dressed to impress. The rest of the staff were with her, elegant, impressive and severe as always. Arawn lazily moved forward, pushing his way with elegant grace to the middle front of the students. Several turned to snap at him only to pale and shuffle back out of his way. Of course the intimidating, deadly presence of Valko, Gizem and Cináed helped matters.

 

The headmistress watched his movements, but did nothing to rebuke Arawn. Once the students had settled again she raised her hands to just above her shoulders, calling their attention. Arawn and his peers fell silent, showing their respect.

 

"Traditionally," she said, her voice firm, "the students from each school have arrived at the host school in a fashion that showed off some of their unique studies and school pride. No doubt the Ministry of Magic and Albus Dumbledore expected us to participate in this little _measuring contest,_ but I am not of that opinion. We shall not give away Avalon's abilities before the game even begins. At this time, the whole of Hogwarts is waiting outside for Durmstrang, for us."

 

A smirk twisted her lips, one that showed how much Isolde enjoyed what she was about to say. "Instead of obliging them, we shall gate into the Great Hall of Hogwarts itself and wait for the other two schools to become settled. We shall make our entrance by _not_ making one. We shall catch them off balance before the game has even begun."

 

Several students grinned at the idea, while Arawn contemplated it. In a way, it was an even grander entrance than using special transportation or making a big spectacle, but at the same time it was mysterious, unsettling. It pleased him, and a cold, satisfied smirk crossed his own lips. Without a word, he raised the soft hood of his fur-lined silk travel robe, hiding his features. While several students looked startled, they followed his gesture unconsciously, making Isolde's lips quirk into a small smile.

______

 

Initially the arrival of the foreign schools had been the spectacle that Dumbledore had wanted. The gathered populace of Hogwarts had gasped and whispered at the massive ship rising in the Black Lake, many excited whispers hissing like little fires as the students had stared in curiosity at the foreigners. More than one student had gone on tiptoes once the presence of Viktor Krum had been observed, fan girls (and boys) alike squabbling over the likely possibility of an autograph.

 

However, Sirius contemplated, the Minister and Dumbledore had quickly been thrown off-guard, as the minutes ticked by and the Avalon Academy delegates remained unseen. Sirius remembered his own distinct surprise when the Headmaster had announced that the Ministry had been successful in recruiting the elusive, private Academy to join the tournament in the first place.

 

After a quarter-hour passed without sight of the Academy Dumbledore took over, shuffling the students back into the Great Hall with a disgruntled expression on his face. Sirius moved back into the Hall, grateful to be warm again. It was a brisk, cold October evening and he hadn't taken any sort of warmer cloak with him to the Hall. He took a seat between Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, looking a bit apprehensively at the latter. The moon approached, and his long-time lover could be very _possessive_ and agitated by his behaviour.

 

Remus seemed calm enough and he relaxed a little, sitting back. Dumbledore had _just_ taken his seat when all of the torches and fires suddenly went out. The students cried out  in surprise as it went dark, looking around for a culprit. Before any of the teachers could stand and relight the torches, the ones closest to the door glowed a sudden bright, eerie blue.

 

The next pair turned white, the next blue, so on and so forth until the entire hall was lit with a pale, shimmering glow that made students and teachers alike flicker with a ghostly pallor. With a bright flash of light, colour was restored and the lights blazed with their normal strength, though a new addition to the Hall showed near the doors.

 

A group of about a hundred individuals stood there, hoods up. The lead figure was tall and thin, robe bordered with an iridescent shimmer mirrored by another eight or so. After that came colours of a rainbow as well as metallic tones, grouped together in no sense of rhyme or reason. The lead figure stepped forward and dropped their hood, to the surprised gasps of many students.

 

It was a woman, a very attractive one at that with sharp features and piercing eyes. Her eyes were a frosty blue colour, giving the impression that she saw far more than you were letting her see. Her hair was black, tied back severely in a long French braid that reached her waist. She wore a beautiful pale silver strapless evening gown, fitted to her slender frame and long legs, with short heels and a black lace shawl draped over her shoulders to her elbows.

 

Dumbledore stood with notable reluctance, Sirius realised. He did not like nor respect this woman for some reason. Sirius wasn't sure why, she gave off an aura of palpable power and control, even the Hogwarts students weren't as fidgeting and gossiping as normal.

 

"Headmistress Isolde, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

 

Sirius blinked in surprise. He knew that name, and from the shift of slight surprise to his right, so did Snape. A careful glance along the table showed both McGonagall and Flitwick had recognized her as well. Isolde was a formidable Weapons Mistress and Dueling instructor, or at least she had been. She'd retired from teaching around the same time the former Headmaster's son had died in an accident, Sirius didn't know she'd taken up the position as Head of the prestigious Academy. She'd been on the professional dueling circuit around the same time that Flitwick had retired, the man had spoken enthusiastically of her skill and control a few times.

 

Isolde inclined her head in a short dip of thanks, speaking in a throaty voice that nonetheless demanded attention and compliance. "Thank you for that welcome, Albus Dumbledore. May I introduce to you the staff and full student enrollment of the Avalon Academy of Magic?"

 

Some hissing whispers from the students broke out now, but Sirius couldn't blame them. _That_ was the total students currently enrolled at the Academy? Good Merlin, how stringent were their entrance exams exactly?!

 

"Please, be welcome, it is a cold night after all. Let me add a table for your staff and your students can—"

 

"No thank you," Isolde demurred, a strange look in her eyes. "My staff are going to set up our living arrangements out on the grounds, and my students can sort out themselves if you don't mind. I, however, would like to sit down."

 

The staff turned and left, having never introduced themselves. Albus looked slightly uncertain, but conjured a chair for Isolde between himself and Minerva. Sirius was disappointed, Isolde seemed like she would be an interesting person to speak with. He turned away and looked at the Avalon contingent, who were still standing very still and quiet, hoods up but heads tilted to their Headmistress.

 

Isolde sat down, made herself comfortable and then looked up. Catching what seemed to be one particular student's eye, she nodded. One student with gold-trimmed robes framed in white fur turned and nodded to the others, who suddenly moved into action.

 

All of the other students with gold robes flicked off their robes, folded them neatly and withdrew their wands along with a small sliver of wood. With a quick snap of their wands they transfigured, expertly, nine massive round table, five on the right side of the room, four on the left. Job complete, they swiftly moved out of the way, standing against the back wall.

 

Those with silver disrobed, moved forward and withdrew similar pieces of wood, duplicating them and swirling their wands, transfiguring 10 chairs per table, for a total of ninety.  Bronze followed, disrobing and conjuring from pieces of thread elegant tablecloths and seat cushions. On it went, all the way through the different colours with silverware, plates, bowls of flowers and elegant glasses as well as sturdy metal goblets being transfigured, charmed or otherwise magicked into place. The display of control over their magic was phenomenal.

 

When the very youngest students carefully picked up the stacks of robes, bound them together and sent them away, presumably to where the staff were setting up quarters, Sirius looked over and saw the expression on his old Head of House's face. McGonagall especially seemed to appreciate the control the Avalon students had just displayed, considering it was almost all in her difficult, fiddly field of study.

 

The Hogwarts students appeared stunned by the display, Durmstrang appreciative of the skill involved. The Avalon students moved to their respective places but didn't sit, waiting for something. Four students stood at the last table, leaving six open places. The one in the white fur robes was at the very end of the hall closest to the left wall, standing very still. In concert the other three moved, removing long silk cloaks, two with gold and one with silver. They placed their robes carefully over the backs of their chairs and one, a tall male with very golden hair, moved respectfully over to the last figure, carefully reaching out and removing the fur-lined cloak, hanging it on the back of the others chair.

 

It was a young man, about 17 years old, with glossy blue-black hair and pale skin. Underneath the robe he was dressed in a gold silk shirt and black leather trousers tucked into ankle-high boots, with an heir ring on his finger and a small jeweled object hanging level with his chin from a place over his right ear. He looked down the length of the Avalon tables and then curtly nodded his head once, sitting.

 

Only once he sat did those at his table, then the next table down and so on until finally the last table was seated, all of this was done in absolute quiet with a minimum of movement. Once seated, the young male made a graceful half-turn in his seat, giving the Head Table quiet, respectful but unnervingly focused attention.

 

Dumbledore stood, shooting a quick glance at the mysterious student. "Please, foreign students, Ministry representatives, guests, be welcome!"

 

When the whole procedure for sitting down was reversed at the end of meals, with the boy standing last, Sirius made the mental note that he was to be watched. He had a feeling he wasn't the only one with this reaction. The solid, elegant tables were left in place. Idly, Sirius wondered how long it would take before intellectual curiosity had Minerva down there studying the tables. He snickered a bit, he knew what she would be mentioning at the morning meeting.    


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Arawn's dramatic arrival. OOPS! Continuity strikes early. I have removed the mentions of Beauxbatons, thanks for catching that goof!
> 
> QUESTION: This affects the story, what pairing would you like to see for Arawn? Originally I had planned Severus/Arawn, but after thinking about his very powerful personality, I was debating on actually pairing him with the Dark Lord. And for the future, Arawn is the 'sub' in a relationship, so hopefully you weren't in here looking for a Top!Fic from me (I don't like writing them very much).
> 
> Just a question: why do people even bother leaving acidic comments on something they don't like? Just got a series of comments on one of my oldest works that, if I were a younger or less confident writer, could have really done some damage. All it did was make me shake my head and do a bit of ego-flattening in return.

At near precisely half-five Arawn woke, stretching lazily in his bed, Valko's powerful form against his back. None too eager to move he lay there, savouring the heat pouring off his companion's body and the warm comforter. Within the wizarding tent that was used as a portable dormitory for the students, Arawn shared his spacious room with only three others, Cináed, Valko and Gizem. There were three other open beds in their 'room', but they remained empty unless Arawn deigned to invite someone to spend an evening with him and his companions.

 

There had been some grumbling about this initially as each of the other 9 dorms had been forced to add an additional two spaces to fit all the students, but any disgruntled muttering had been quelled with almost no effort whatsoever. Respecting the study of Arithmancy and the power of numbers, there were 13 total rooms in the student tent. 10 dormitories, a lavatory each for boys and girls and a lounge. The lounge was where the Avalon students would be able to spend what little idle time they had outside of their studies.

 

Arawn stood, bare-skinned and uncaring. He had never been self-conscious about his body nor would he start, flesh was flesh. His companions knew what he looked like, though they may admire his elegant, athletic frame and pale, perfect skin they were respectful, no staring involved. Arawn gathered his clothes, smirking in response to Gizem when she sleepily commented on the darker marks Valko had left on his skin the night before.

 

Dressed in his well-worn battle gear he waited for Gizem to make herself ready. Combat and physical defense was the first class for the eighth form, three days per week. He inspected his gloves, making sure there were no holes nor worn places for well-aimed spells to penetrate. Only once had he failed to inspect his gear, back in his second form days. The painful feeling of having the tips of three fingers treated for a week due to burns ensured he would never forget again, that and the palatable disappointment from Aldrich.

 

Surrounded by his fellow eighth form students, Arawn made his way out of their tent and into the one that held the classrooms and training salle. Heavy mats cushioned the floor and padded the lower walls, but the salle was otherwise bare of any decoration. Aldrich waited for them, standing in the center of the room. Without a word of greeting he moved forward and started putting them through their stretches. After which they ran a few rounds of the room, the slowest four running an extra circuit just because Aldrich felt like it.

 

They began with physical weapons, Arawn working with Aldrich himself as he was the odd student out. When he was younger Arawn had been paired with one of the Weapons Master's student aides, but as he progressed steadily in skill and ruthless capability the Weapons Master had started pitting his own skill against the teen, something Arawn greatly enjoyed.

 

Cautiously Arawn withdrew his weapon, seemingly a long, dark-coloured stick. There were elaborately carved grooves in the middle and just slightly off-centre for him to maintain a proper grip, but no other markings. He whirled the staff swiftly over his head and diagonally across his right side, prompting a pair of very sharp goblin-steel blades with wickedly-sharp curves pointing in opposite directions to slide into place on opposite ends.

 

He set his feet, braced his body carefully and waited while Aldrich swiftly drew his long broadsword and swirled it a few times in his right hand, testing the blade and his own reflexes. Satisfied, he lunged in Arawn's direction, not meeting the staff with his blade, merely testing Arawn's reflexes at this point.

 

The two settled into their little dance of blocks and parries, blades dancing swiftly through the air. They were something to watch, Arawn held a dancer's grace as he darted lightly back and forth. Aldrich meanwhile seemed a mere extension of his blade, using his body as a weapon as well. He was heavier and stronger than Arawn, something they both knew.

 

Arawn always tried to use Aldrich's strength to his own advantage, seeking to tire out the older man before striking any of his better blows. Arawn however could tend to overestimate his own speed, Aldrich was faster than he looked and many of the older Weapons Master's 'wins' against the young heir were due to Arawn's over-confidence.

 

About half-way through the fight Arawn began to use his staff's other capability, channeling lower-level hexes and stunners through the wood and the blades. His ability to cast spells through the wood and metal of his weapon were due to experimentation with the wood used as the base, as well as several runes and careful soaking of the wood in potion-laden solutions. Arawn had made his weapon, something he was very proud of. It was one of the only weapons currently used in the magical world that could be used to channel magic.

 

There were currently only five magic-channeling weapons aside from his staff, all of which had been created by alumni of the Avalon Academy. The knowledge was commonly available to students, what stopped there from being more of them was the level of magic and control in the caster. As soon as Arawn had read about the unique weapons in his first year, he desired more than anything to create and own one of those amazing weapons. It had taken him five years of dedicated work, experimentation and painstaking care to craft his staff.

 

Arawn and Aldrich finally declared a draw by mutual choice, a grin spreading across Arawn's face as he stood there, breathing fairly hard and soaked in sweat. Arawn was in excellent physical shape, but Aldrich was as well and they had fought for quite some time now.

 

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir!" Arawn said with a genuine smile, prompting a returning one from Aldrich.

 

"Anytime, young Lestrange. Should you like to cross blades and wits with me in your spare time while we are here, you know how to seek me out."

 

Arawn raised an eyebrow, prompting a snort from Aldrich. "Lad, if you thought that any of the instructors were believing another student would represent Avalon than you would be called an idiot for the first time since we met you."

 

"We shall see," Arawn said dismissively, though he was pleased at Aldrich's assessment.

 

He left the salle with his fellow eighth form students and returned to the student tent. Entering 'his' dorm he removed his gear and took a hot shower, scrubbing the sweat from his body. Feeling refreshed, he dressed in elegant casual silk robes in a very dark blood red with intricate, beautiful gold traceries in the shape of Celtic knots over a pair of black leather trousers and shiny black knee-high boots with a slight heel.

 

He tied his hair back with a soft red velvet strap, ignoring the pieces that framed his high-boned, aristocratic face. Stepping out of his dorm and into the lounge he found the whole of the Avalon students waiting for him. "Come," he said in a low, warm voice, "let us go break our fast."

 

His trio of permanent companions joined him and they left, ending up somewhere in the middle of the students. Gizem chatted to him about the morning's training with Aldrich on the way, Valko and Cináed listening in as neither one were part of the eighth form training group. Valko occasionally joined them for some physical exercise, but he often trained on his own or against Aldrich, the older man able to stand against and more importantly unafraid of the born werewolf's natural strength.

 

Arawn continued to talk to his companions, 'ignoring' the Hogwarts populace as they entered the Great Hall, moving down to their table. Arawn seated himself with bold unconcern and selected his meal from the offerings in the centre of the table. Crinkling his nose at the proffered selection of beverages, he snapped his fingers sharply just once and a cup of steaming coffee appeared just past his fingertips.

 

Gizem seemed relieved to know there were options, doing the same thing and receiving her preferred cup of breakfast tea. Keeping his face carefully neutral as he took in the Great Hall, Arawn wanted to smirk at the reactions they were getting.  Most of the staff seemed to not know what to think about them, his 'uncle' included even though Sirius had no idea that Arawn was in fact the baby he had briefly met 17 years ago.

 

Their four open places seemed to be doomed to being empty for the year, at least until Arawn caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Tilting his head in their direction Arawn raised his eyes until he met those of his cousin, Draco and two of his lackeys. Thankfully not the dull-witted 'guards' that Draco had obtained back in his first year.

 

"Hello cousin," Draco said warmly, blue eyes glinting. They were far enough from the other tables that Draco's words were unheard by anyone but his two companions, "may we join you this morning?"

 

Arawn's eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze to Draco's companions. The first of which was a tall black boy with close-shaved hair and dark coppery eyes. The other was a shorter boy with mousey brown hair and very intelligent hazel eyes. "May I ask for your names? I don't like addressing my breakfast acquaintances by titles."

 

"Blaise Zabini, seventh year Slytherin," the dark-skinned boy said, eyes sharp and calculating.

 

"Theodore Nott, seventh year Slytherin," answered the other, his gaze almost judgmental, though not enough to annoy Arawn, yet.

 

"Please," Arawn dismissively waved his hand over the chairs, "sit."

 

After they had seated themselves, Cináed gave a small grin and said, "My name is Cináed, I am a 6th form Avalon student."

 

"My name is Gizem, I am a 8th form Avalon student," Gizem stated curtly, retreating to her lofty superiority around people she didn't know or trust.

 

"My name is Valko. I am a graduate of Avalon Academy this prior spring, but I have stayed on to study advanced courses with a couple of my instructors. I also act as an aide of sorts for several professors when they are teaching more involved classes."

 

Arawn smirked when two eager faces turned to him. "I am Arawn Janus Lestrange, to know my full heritage and how I am related to Draco would require an oath on your part. Do not idly agree to anything I propose, I am very good at spotting loopholes and this would be a binding agreement."

 

Blaise's eyebrow raised. "Serious words for just knowing your full heritage, Lestrange."

 

Arawn leaned forward just slightly, as if he were letting them in on some big secret. "I have plans that have been in the works for over five years, Zabini. Plans that could be ruined if the wrong ears knew my heritage. I will not have them messed up in the last months by a gossip-hungry student who wants to be a big shot because he knows who the mysterious foreigners are."

 

Nott bristled slightly, which Arawn ignored. He'd been told about all of the Death Eaters in Britain and their families, he knew that what he'd described was basically how one could expect a Nott to act. Knowledge-hungry, that family, but they couldn't be trusted with knowledge about people, because they were also some of the biggest gossipers of the Dark supporters. Rather like the Parkinsons, which Arawn was thankful he hadn't run into the female heir to _that_ family yet, even though she was one of Draco's lackeys.

 

Zabini's other eyebrow rose to join the first and then he leaned back in his chair, the very picture of disinterest. Arawn wanted to laugh in delight, someone who knew how to properly play the game! He leaned back as well, almost mirroring the other student's posture, though he picked up his rich, dark coffee and took a generous sip, savouring the taste in his mouth for a long moment before swallowing.

 

"Perhaps," Zabini stated lazily, "the information you offer may be worth the price. For now however, I think I will just enjoy the company and the show no doubt about to be put on. I can say one thing for you Avalon students, you don't do anything by halves."

 

"That," Arawn replied with a bit of a smirk, "we certainly don't."

___

 

Severus Snape sat on the far right end of the Staff table as per his usual, back in a corner and surveying the usual morning bubble of activity with his usual quiet disdain. Sharp dark eyes kept a close eye on his Slytherins on the opposite end of the hall, keeping an eye out for any possible trouble between his students and the rambunctious Gryffindors two tables away. The Avalon contingent of students had yet to show themselves this morning, though the teachers were present, all aside from one that Severus had noticed was a man to avoid physical conflict with, his grace and strength readily noticeable even in small movements.

 

Almost as if summoned by Severus' thoughts, said professor was making his way casually up the middle aisle, wearing a plain white shirt and form-fitting trousers under the smart black robes with shimmering edges that all of the Avalon staff wore. He seated himself at a small table with his fellow educators, reaching for a pot of coffee that one of the teachers had summoned.

 

It was about fifteen minutes later that the first Avalon students poured through the doorway, moving to the nine tables they had so impressively transfigured the night before. The student seemingly in charge of the whole thing was in the middle of the group, surrounded by the same students that had sat with him the previous night. Once again they made their way to the table on the far left, the elegant dark-haired boy seating himself first with a casual ease that belied his obvious pureblooded heritage.

 

He selected a rather well-balanced meal before surveying the offered drinks with distaste. With an easy, crisp snap of the fingers on his left hand he summoned what appeared to be a cup of dark, unsweetened coffee. Severus watched with curiosity and some slight tension as his godson Draco Malfoy stood, taking with him Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Draco spoke to the leader of the Avalon students, being almost _evaluated_ for a moment before the boy gestured with careless grace to the four empty chairs.

 

Severus leaned back, relaxed. They appeared to be getting on well enough, though the young Nott heir bristled slightly at something the foreign teen had said. He wasn't worried, this young man appeared easily capable of handling himself and putting Nott in his place if necessary.

 

When the students had all finished breakfast the Headmaster stood, a jovial smile on his face. "A very good morning to our students and guests, hopefully your first night here at Hogwarts was a pleasant one. To start off the weekend I have invited the Heads of our guest schools to speak to the Hogwarts students and their fellow competitors, offering a tidbit about their schools."

 

"First I would like to introduce all of you to Headmistress Isolde of the Avalon Academy of Magic."

 

Two seats down from Severus the elegant, lean figure of Isolde stood with a slow, regal grace, though she gifted the Headmaster a smile, her eyes were dark. Severus had heard of Isolde from when she was still the Weapons Mistress at Avalon, she was a very dangerous individual to cross. The look she was currently shooting Albus gave off the impression she would rather happily skewer him.

 

 _I doubt he actually discussed this with either one of them. Boris doesn't look particularly pleased either._ Indeed, the head of the Durmstrang Institute seemed outright annoyed, though he was hiding it quite well.

 

Isolde had made her way to the front centre of the platform where the Staff table sat and she raised her hand for quiet. There was something about her that even the Hogwarts students appeared to respect, as they fell silent far more easily than they ever had before.

 

"The Avalon Academy of Magic is one of the oldest and most respected institutions of magic in the wizarding world. It rests on the island of Mona, which has held a reputation for producing those with talent in magic since before the Roman Empire. Before Rome even discovered the British Isles, the tribes would send those who had a talent for sight or warfare ('dreamers' and 'warriors' in their world) to Mona for study. It was a place of great respect and dignity."

 

"When it appeared evident that Rome would conquer the British Isles, the druids with true magic revealed themselves to the Elders of Mona, offering protection for a price. They would weave complex wards around the island, but it would be forever hidden from the rest of the world, and the only ones who would be allowed to reside on the island would be the children, who are young and have impressionable minds."

 

"In the time of Arthur and Merlin and Morgana, a great war sprung up centered around magic, one that would define the way we see magic to this day. The magic Merlin used became known as 'light' after he won the war, while Morgana, his sister, was known as the first 'Dark' witch. Merlin and Morgana grew up and used the same magic however, something that angered Morgana to no end."

 

A growing frown on Albus' face made Severus want to smirk. He obviously hadn't wanted Isolde to speak of Avalon's history, the most ironic part about it was the whole thing was true, so many students may begin to question Light/Dark labels after this morning. _Cleverly played, Isolde._

 

"Morgana had heard of the island of Mona, and she went searching for it. It nearly killed her in the process, but there was only one druid caretaker remaining on the island and her courage and magic impressed him. He granted her access to the island and after hearing her request, used the last of his magic to create the building that houses to this day the Avalon Academy."

 

"Morgana le Fay started our school and her exacting standards for student entry are still used to this day. Our current curriculum has changed very little over the centuries, as has our way of organizing the student body. Currently at the Avalon Academy we offer the following classes: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, Dark Arts Defense, Divination, Weapons and Dueling, Runes, Arithmancy and what are known as the Forgotten Arts."

 

"We offer several advanced forms of these classes as well, such as Basic Alchemy, Healing, Spellcrafting and Warding, but there are several prerequisites required for each of these classes."

 

A Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood if Severus remembered correctly, raised her hand politely. When Isolde nodded at her she said, "What is Forgotten Arts exactly?"

 

"The Forgotten Arts class covers several subjects that are rare to the magical world at large now, such as crafting magical paintings, the construction of things such as Pensieves and weaving spells through musical instruments."

 

Severus found himself reluctantly impressed as the students set to whispering amongst themselves as Isolde finished. That was a very impressive set of classes, Severus himself would have been interested in a few of them.

 

"Our students," Isolde began again to the rapt attention of the children, "are separated into eight Forms as our curriculum takes eight years to complete instead of seven. From first to eighth the colours are: white, yellow, blue, red, purple, bronze, silver and gold. We have a very relaxed dress code, our main rule is that students must display their form colour at all times. The staff at Avalon where robes with a trim that is an iridescent mix of all the form colours, demonstrated by Alexis Aldrich, our Weapons Master."

 

The man Severus had noted as one not to cross was standing, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He was very tall, pushing even seven feet possibly. Severus noted with slight humour that none of the Hogwarts students seemed likely to cross him, even the brat Potter, who was cowering back just slightly along with the rest of the Hogwarts populace.

 

He sat down again with a slight smirk on his face as Isolde continued. "The criteria by which we select our students is based on magic. While those of you who attend Hogwarts gain entry with any strong burst of accidental magic, to be even considered for attendance at the Avalon Academy you must show that you can produce repeated, controlled magical bursts."

 

"That's impossible for anyone who isn't a pureblood!" a Gryffindor cried out indignantly.

 

Isolde arched her eyebrow at the miscreant, who had the grace to blush and apologise, hiding his gaze from his fellow students. Then, to Severus' curious surprise, she looked at the elegant, attractive boy who seemed to be a leader amongst the Avalon contingent, if not _the_ leader. Eyes flashed with careful consideration, landing on a boy at his table who had almost pure-white hair. He looked back to Isolde and gave a short dip of his chin, hardly moving.

 

Looking directly at the one who had spoken out, Isolde said mildly, "That is a common misconception about the Avalon Academy, one I am happy to prove wrong. To help me I ask Cináed to come and join me."

 

The white haired boy's head popped up and he looked rather surprised, looking to the leader for confirmation. Then he stood and made his way swiftly and with some slight nerves to stand next to Isolde.

 

"Cináed is a 6th form student, as you can see today the colour of his form, bronze, is visible on his shirt. Cináed is an orphan we discovered on the streets of London. We don't know his parentage and neither does he. However, Cináed attracted our attention at Avalon rather quickly."

 

The boy raised his right hand, palm up, and a ball of fire materialized just above his skin. Raising his left as well he summoned another, threw them lightly in the air and flicked his hands, willing the fire into the form of a small dragon, which flew a complete circuit above the student's heads before disappearing. The students began clapping, the various staff members politely clapping as well.

 

"Cináed has a natural affinity for fire, he attracted our attention as he used it continuously in his life on the streets for everything from cooking his food to heating himself in the winters. Once we were able to prove to him that he was a magical child and possessed a proper wizarding core, he joined us at the Avalon Academy at age 10."

 

Cináed moved back to his seat as Isolde and the young man seemed to be engaged in another silent conversation, one that took considerably more consideration on his part. Finally he gave a small nod, seeming to be a bit annoyed at Isolde's request.

 

"On the other end of the scale we do have a very large group of pureblood students. However they are held to the same exacting standards as Cináed. To help me demonstrate this I ask Arawn Lestrange to come join me."

 

Hisses started amongst the students, some incredulous, several aggressive. The staff seemed shocked as well, whispering quietly amongst themselves. All except for Black, who had a very strange look on his face. A mix of surprise and a bit of… _anticipation_?

 

The student they all had been watching stood with careless grace, moving up between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables with the grace of a dancer. Amongst the suspicious stares of the Hogwarts staff he joined his Headmistress, back to the staff table. As Severus was on the corner he could see a slight smirk on that aristocratic face, mirth visible in coppery-grey eyes.

 

The Lestranges had left Britain after the fall of the Dark Lord, evading capture and when questioned able to flawlessly prove their innocence in the Dark's activities, despite the fact that they were easily one of the most loyal families to the Dark Lord's cause, answering his summons after almost 10 years in hiding without hesitation.

 

Severus had as well, and he marveled to this day at the Dark Lord's patience and guile in staying hidden for so long, gathering his strength and supporters in droves under Dumbledore's nose. When he finally chose to leave his hiding place, Albus would have no idea what he was up against.

 

Regardless of their 'innocence' the Lestranges and Black family outside of Sirius had been regarded with suspicion and wariness for the past seventeen years, the sudden surprising appearance of the Lestrange heir on British soil would not be regarded by the majority of the Hogwarts staff as a good omen.

 

"Arawn is an 8th form student, in his last year with us at the Avalon Academy. He will graduate with his fellow 8th form students on May 5th, as our school term begins on August 1st. We initially began to pay attention to Arawn due to his considerable control over wandless magic at a young age, he was known for removing locks on doors he wasn't supposed to enter. His sire actually began using Wards to keep him out."

 

"Through the years and dedicated study, Arawn has risen to become one of our best students at Avalon, taking only Advanced courses this year. He is up here to demonstrate some advanced wandless magic, if he is agreeable."

 

Arawn took a couple of steps down and off the platform, placing himself between the second students of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. He turned to his Headmistress and executed a rather courtly bow, "As my lady commands, so I shall do."

 

His voice was silky and low, carrying very easily. He straightened and raised both of his hands, palm up. After a few moments his hands began to glow with an eerie blue light, which he swirled easily through the air, striking the four stone emblems of the Hogwarts houses.

 

With a very loud roar, the Gryffindor lion jumped to land amongst the students of that house, making several shriek and fall off their benches as the wood table shuddered under the weight. The Hufflepuff badger was next, landing with a snarl on the floor between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables. With a realistic shrieking cry the Ravenclaw eagle took flight, a shower of gold sparks falling from it's majestic wings. It landed on the back of the very delighted Filius' chair, who looked like he was itching to see how Arawn was doing the complex magic.

 

Severus braced himself and managed not to jump as the Slytherin serpent appeared, not near the Slytherin table itself, but behind him, thudding heavily onto the staff table between himself and Black with a malevolent hiss. The serpent appeared almost real, a glistening shimmer on its body. As Severus watched the animals moved amongst the students, further taking on realistic characteristics until it appeared Arawn had summoned four living creatures.

 

Then with one massive _'snap_ ' of audible force, all four were gone, once again motionless statues, at least until the lion yawned. Arawn bowed again, amongst thunderous applause. Once the chatter died down he addressed the Hogwarts staff. "Those statues will remain animated now, though they will no longer move. So if you see one wink at you, it wasn't your imagination."

 

Several students laughed, and Arawn moved back to sit in his spot at the last table.

 

"Thus concludes my little introduction of the Avalon Academy of Magic and our students. The floor is yours, Albus."

 

Isolde was smirking a bit as she took her seat and Severus knew why. The very annoyed, worried look on Albus' face was almost enough to prompt a little smirk of his own. Isolde had managed to introduce her students and her school in a way that was very impressive, but gave away very little of her student's capabilities, which was no doubt what Dumbledore had been hoping for.

 

_Very well played._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arawn plots... :D  
> So pending any future changes, looks like this is going to be Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Arawn Lestrange, with a possible trio with Severus Snape, though most likely not.
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter nor anything you recognize. I do own the lovely Arawn and any OCs however! :D When I re-read this chapter for editing, Gizem sounds something like Bellatrix...

It took Blaise Zabini three days to decide the oath was worth it. The revelation of Arawn's full parentage and his goals for Hogwarts were the reward, and the stunned dark eyes showed the oath had been worth it. Blaise could say nothing to anyone without Arawn's permission and now he would be a very valuable ally and mole into Arawn's plans for the Potter scion and his arrogant offspring.

 

Having only been at Hogwarts for a week, Arawn summoned his friends and Blaise to their dormitory inside the Avalon student tent. Blaise was very impressed by the accommodations within the tent, down to an ornate marble fireplace in each of the dormitories, Arawn currently seated to the left of the one in 'his' dormitory, left side bathed in shadows. Arawn was a beautiful individual, he could easily spot the lust and longing in Zabini's eyes. It made him a puppet in Arawn's hands, the boy would do almost anything for him.

 

He played to Blaise's dark fantasies; wearing sultry, tight clothing that exposed just the right amount of moonlight-pale skin and keeping his plans mostly secret. He enjoyed playing to the desire for something beautiful, mysterious that he could see Blaise wanted so desperately. He was playing with fire, stoking and controlling the boy's libido without any intention of giving him what he wanted. Indeed, Blaise might not like what he got if Arawn ever 'gave in'. There was a reason he and Valko melded so well together.

 

Most days Arawn controlled his mounting bloodlust with ease, but being so close to ones that had hurt his family and forced their 'Light' status down everyone's throats was wearing at his control. He had seen the Potter scion finally in person himself just yesterday, the urge to kill, to lash out with the full brunt of his fury, disgust and desire to _ruin_ this man had been so strong that Gizem and Cináed had barely managed to get him away soon enough.

 

His control was once again that of an iron-fist, reigning in a temporary desire to see James Potter screaming on the floor in a pool of his own dark crimson blood. It would be a temporary relief, not the permanent satisfaction of letting the Lord Potter see and know where his ruin would come from, that a child of his own making would be his undoing. For it had been James Potter, at the time only heir to the Potter seat who had raped his bearer that night.

 

Arawn smiled, a cold, mocking thing aimed only at the fireplace and the licking flames there. Having his ultimate revenge so close that he could _taste_ it was very tempting, especially with the surprising, happy news he had received from home. His bearer Regulus was pregnant with his and Rabastan's first child that was theirs from conception. He knew his sire loved him, but he also knew the man was ecstatic about having another child with Regulus. By the time his sibling was born, James Potter would no longer exist.

 

It hadn't improved his mood to hear that the Lord Potter would be present far more often than he would like. He was acting as part of a security detail by the Ministry of Magic to safeguard the students, foreign and local, from any harm, especially with rising rumours of the Dark Lord's activities. None of it had been confirmed yet, but the near palpable excitement from the Dark families was worth more than words. Arawn knew that as soon as the Dark confirmed their Lord was alive and well, he would likely be presented in some grand form as Heir to two of his most loyal families.

 

Until that day however, Arawn worked at bettering himself for being one of the Dark Lord's most trusted individuals. He would study, he would train, he would learn. Not only for the Dark Lord, but for himself and his own insatiable appetite for knowledge and control. Gizem, Cináed, Valko and now Blaise… They were merely the beginning. Mere playthings, practice dummies for when he would stride confidently into the real world beyond his school and bend others to his will. Part of him was concerned, for Arawn knew he wasn't one to merely follow another's instructions. He had tasted leadership, control, subjugation and it was like a drug. He was uncertain how well he would be able to follow the Dark Lord's orders, especially since the man was accustomed to immediate acquiescence from his followers.

 

For now he had other plans. Looking speculatively at Blaise, he said quietly, "Tell me Blaise, have you been a capable silent observer of your fellow students over the past seven years?"

 

Blaise straightened, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his legs at the knee. With what he no doubt thought was a seductive smirk he said, "I am one of the best. Name a student, I can tell you anything about them."

 

Keeping his expression neutral, Arawn hid his mental scoff at the way this braggart had responded. It was nothing new, no matter what Arawn asked of him he was always the best, the most logical choice. It was off-putting, even if Arawn had fallen for his paltry attempts at seduction. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs over the right arm. Putting his chin in the palm of his right hand he said, "Very well, tell me what you know of the Potter heir."

 

His nonchalance was taken at face value and Blaise's smirk widened. "Not much to say of the Gryffindor Golden Boy, as everyone calls him. Average student, only bothers to really pay attention in Defense as that's what everyone believes he should be the best at, that and Quidditch. A bully, he made that mudblood Granger cry last year, called her a 'buck-toothed know-it-all' in front of most the school.  Easily drawn in by a pretty face, he's one of the worst for sleeping his way through the female populace. Wouldn't be caught dead touching another guy."

 

"I know Lord Potter is his sire, obviously, but who is his mother?" Gizem asked.

 

"Lord Potter was married to a mudblood first, Lily Evans. She was in his year at Hogwarts and for lack of decent bloodlines was one of the more talented witches of her time. She couldn't carry a child however, so after some attempts to get an heir from her Lord Potter divorced her. She left the magical world last I know, went back to living amongst Muggles."

 

"After a few months he married a girl with a nice-enough set of bloodlines out of France. It was an arranged marriage on the part of her parents, she was only 19 while Lord Potter was 24. Didn't take him long to get her pregnant, there were rumors of fertility potions going around for a few months since she was visibly pregnant not even six months into their marriage."

 

"First kid she birthed was our current nuisance, so I've heard he hasn't touched her again. She lives a well-off life and cares for her son, not as much for her husband. I guess he's not too discreet about hiding the women he's doing from her. From what I've overheard said by some adults, he's even brought a few of them home."

 

"It sounds to me," Arawn said softly, but with considerable venom obvious in his voice, "like your 'Golden Boy' is well off on following his sire's _examples._ "

 

Blaise shifted, but didn't say anything. He, like Arawn's loyal trio, must have noticed that Arawn's mood meant it was best not to interrupt his train of thoughts.

 

Arawn's mood was dark indeed. So Potter hadn't given up his disgusting ways after hurting Regulus. It certainly would have cleared his conscious if he had any sort of misgivings about murdering the man. Not that he did, nor would he ever. A part of him pitied Lily Evans and the man's current nameless, faceless wife. It couldn't be easy, living with a man who felt fidelity was a joke. Idly he traced the wood grains in the arm of his chair, exceptional mind whirring with thoughts and plans.

 

"Gizem," he began, and she looked at him, nostrils flaring slightly in anticipation. "If you feel up to it, I have a job for you."

 

"Anything," she said breathlessly, looking both eager and delighted in anticipation of what he was going to say.

 

"I would like you to use you considerable abilities and control over the populace to _ruin_ the Potter Heir. I know you follow me in part because I will give you important people to play with, here is the first. Do not take this for a game, dearest, it is very real. Seduce him, wrap him around your little finger, make him do anything for you."

 

A beatific smile crossed Gizem's face in anticipation. She stood, wandering over to stand in front of a full length mirror. As they watched, she shrank in height and her hair turned a rich shade of blood red, falling to just past her hips in long, lazy waves. Her eyes turned a beautiful, hypnotizing shade of bluish-purple, her lips became fuller and pouty and her hips and breasts took on lush curves.

 

"Anything for you," she said to Arawn in a rich, throaty voice, "though this will be great fun for me. Am I required to bed him?" There was some slight disgust in her voice at the last.

 

"Whatever will make him putty in your hands, my mysterious one," Arawn replied, "though I think it may benefit you more to play hard to get. Always remember, there are other ways of controlling a man than full submission," Arawn winked.

 

She laughed, her voice almost breathless. "I think I will be getting ready for dinner. After all," and her voice became mischievous, "it takes some time to get just the right mix of sophisticated and obscene down."

 

Arawn's satisfied chuckle followed her out of the room. _Let the games begin._

**Author's Note:**

> Arawn: (Welsh Mythology) Name of the god of the Underworld, called Annwfn, in Welsh myth.  
> Janus: (Roman Mythology) Means "archway" in Latin. Janus was the Roman god of gateways and beginnings, often depicted as having two faces looking in opposite directions. The month of January is named for him.  
> Valko: (Bulgarian) 'wolf'  
> Gizem: (Turkish) 'mystery'  
> Arachne: (Greek Mythology) Girl who won a weaving contest against the goddess Athena. In revenge Athena changed her into a spider, to weave fragile, temporary threads for the rest of her life. The scientific name 'arachnid' comes from this myth.  
> Cináed: (Scottish/Irish Gaelic) 'born of fire'


End file.
